Its All ABout The Lies
by Keesha
Summary: Spoilers. A tag to S1EP8. Mike reveals he has injured Odin. How will Paul react.
1. Chapter 1

Standard disclaimer. Not mine. No harm. Just taking it out for a test drive but will return it to the lot with minimal damage.

'Damn Warren,' Briggs cursed under his breath after lifting his white t-shirt and looking in the mirror at the mottled purple-colored flesh that ran down the entire side of his torso. Briggs wasn't about to tell Mike, but the kid had been right on the mark, he had broken some of Odin's a.k.a. Briggs' ribs. Mike was also right on his second point, it did hurt, considerably. A wave of pain washed over the marked agent causing him to bend over and grimace as he rode it out in silence. He could not afford to have his roommates, the agents chasing Odin, made aware of his injuries; it would at the very least, lead to awkward questions; at the worse get him thrown in jail.

Briggs shuffled over to the nearby brown lounge chair and sat down before he fell down. Right now his only objective was to make it thru the next five minutes without a.) hurling, b.) screaming, or c.) passing out. When the pain finally died back down to a dull roar, he slowly moved over to his night stand and fumbled around for the bottle of Aleve. Not recalling or caring how many he had already taken since last night, he downed three more praying for a reduction in the throbbing that was his ribs.

Not quite sure what position was comfortable, (none if he was being honest), he lay back down on his bed his mind spinning as he tried to figure out his next move. Since Mike had proudly told him about hurting Odin, (yeh Mike…not), Briggs was now forced to come up with a plausible explanation, one good enough to fool a house full of highly trained agents, as to why he had a huge bruise on his right side that coincidentally matched the damage that Mike did to the drug lord Odin. It was either convince them or stay hidden in his room for the next few weeks while he recovered. There was no way he was going to be able to act natural with this type of injury.

Sighing, he ran a hand across this forehead; this was not going to be easy. His only real option was to fake an accident so he could 'acquire' his injury. The problem with that brilliant scheme was it was going to hurt like hell. Wasn't it some Scott guy who wrote about tangled webs of deceit?

Briggs came up with and discarded about a dozen ideas before finally finding one that seemed conceivable, doable and hopefully utterly convincing. He closed his eyes for a few minutes to gather his strength but instead promptly fell asleep. He didn't wake until a few hours later when Johnny pounded on his door before cautiously opening it.

"Dude," he bellowed sticking his head around the door cautiously, surprised that nothing came flying at him.

Paul woke at the sound of his name and without thinking went to sit up. His ribs woke up too and let him know their displeasure at his actions by shooting a wave of pain that rocked him from head to toe. Briggs couldn't let Johnny see his agony so he grabbed the nearby pillow and plopped it over his head. "Go away Johnny before I kill you," he mumbled from underneath.

"Run out of things to throw at me?" Johnny joked as he walked further into the room since the coast was clear.

"What part of go away didn't you get?"

Johnny held his hands up in a peace gesture. "Hey, I'm on a mission from God," he said slightly mis-quoting a Blues Brother movie. "Or at least from the girls who think they are Gods."

The throbbing dulled a bit and Briggs felt could control his face so he removed the pillow from his head and glared at Johnny.

"We're going to go to Quattro for lunch. Well not Jakes, but the rest of us. Join us Bro." Johnny started moving purposely towards the bed and Paul was afraid he might start jumping up and down on it to encourage Briggs to get up. If he did that, Paul swore he would shot him.

To forestall any ideas Johnny might have in that squirrel-trap mind of his, Briggs casually sat up on the side of the bed while biting the inside of his mouth to stop from screaming. "Can't. Gotta take the bike to Ventures to have it looked at. It's running rough.

"Couldn't you do that after lunch?" Johnny wheedled.

"Would if I could my man. But forecast says rain this afternoon. If I don't get her up there this morning, don't know when I will get another chance." Briggs was praying this conversation was drawing to a close because he couldn't fake this serene look on his face much longer.

Johnny nodded his head in understanding. "Your loss. Later," he waved over his should as he left, shutting the door behind him. Briggs waited a beat to make sure Johnny was really gone before collapsing; boy this was going to be a long, fun filled day.


	2. Chapter 2

With a lot of effort and swearing, Paul changed into a pair of thick jeans, dark shirt and his leather jacket before wandering downstairs to put in a 'healthy' appearance in front of his roommates. He had to look one hundred percent okeydokey when he left the house if his plan had any hopes of succeeding. Steeling himself for another master performance, he cavalierly strolled into the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee, even if the nearby rum was really what he wanted.

"Hey there Paul," Charlie greeted him from the couch. "Bummer our outing doesn't fit into your master plan."

Paul had to keep himself from startling at her statement since he was not sure where she was headed with it; besides it was hitting too close to home. Things had been tense since the other night on the beach when she had accused him of using everyone around him to his own ends. But he didn't want to get into anything now so he let her comment slide by refusing to rise to the bait. "Blame it on the weather." Charlie huffed and rolled her eyes.

"Next time," Paige said cheerfully trying to dial down the tense atmosphere.

Paul figured he had put in enough face time to prove he was normal, for him that was, so he put his half-finished coffee mug in the sink and headed for the door. "Later."

Once he got down to the garage area where he stored his motorcycle, he grunted and leaned against the cool cement wall for a few minutes employing some pain management techniques. If he wasn't careful, what he did next would not be a staged event but the real thing.

Pulling on his helmet and gloves, he straddled the bike, gritted his teeth and started the engine. She caught on the first try and he was off down the street with a little wave to his roommates who had just walked out the front door on their way to lunch. So far, so good he thought as he rounded the corner and headed up the coast.

Since he figured the kid might still have has credit card number and would not be above checking his charges again, Briggs decided he actually had to do what he said, take his bike to Ventures for servicing. The ride to the shop was uncomfortable but the following two hours of waiting for it to get done was pure agony. Besides the aching of his ribs, he had way too much time on his hands for his mind to spin up the things that had happened in the last few days; the mass murder of the heroin girls; Mike witnessing Bello's brutality; Mike being forced to handle a situation no kid, a few months out of Quantico, should ever see; Charlie dressing him down on the beach; Mike's beach reveal to him; nearly getting caught as Odin; having to take knock out his own trainee; and the one thing that tied them all together was Briggs and his master plan to get to Caza.

Mike was good at connecting the random dots, almost as well as Briggs, so it should not have been a surprise when the kid hit the nail right on the head. The younger agent had enough pieces to make a partial picture and he had, though Briggs knew Mike was still missing some key pieces and he'd like to keep it that way.

Sitting on the couch in the waiting room, Briggs frowned; this whole situation was spinning out of control. He'd almost shot up last night after fighting so hard kick that crap and he wasn't going to kid himself; if Charlie and Johnny had not showed up at that door he would have been riding that high again. Briggs wanted to kick himself in the ass for allowing things to get so far out of whack and he prayed he could ride this Caza wave to the beach without crashing himself or his team. The only thing that was clear in his mind was this would be resolved, no matter what; he would not let his vendetta die before it was finished. He owed Roberto and Lisa that closure.

The promised rain shower happened leaving the streets flooded and the air muggy. When his bike was finished, he paid via his credit card. The ride home was not fun with large puddles soaking him but the wet roads played nicely into his plans. Some higher power must have decided to shine a small ray of light on the otherwise miserable existence that was Paul Briggs because when he pulled onto the street in front of Graceland he spotted all of his roommates outside. Perfect.

When he was younger working a case, he'd met a guy, Jerry, who did stunt driving for a living. Basically, Jerry drove and crashed anything that had wheels for money. It must have paid well because the guy was a regular when it came to buying drugs. Whether Jerry bought drugs because he liked the high, or because he was trying to escape the pain, Paul had no clue. But, the guy had made a good C.I., as well as a fun drinking buddy who had great stories to tell about his latest stunt. Thru their conversations and occasional road trips, Paul had learned a number of tricks involving cars and motorcycles that the agent had actually been able to incorporate into his line of work; more so the driving tips then the crashing tips, that was until today.

He gunned the engine of his motorcycle just a touch to attract the attention of the agents clustered in front of Graceland; after all he wanted an attentive audience because he was only going to do this once. He proceeded down the street towards the house, splashing thru a puddle that ran across the entire width of the road. Then he let his bike skid out from under him on the wet, unforgiving asphalt.

As Briggs felt the bike go down, he remembered Jerry's warning on crashing motorcycles, never get caught under the falling machine because it could seriously mess you up. As the cycle tipped over, Briggs pushed off the seat hard enough to ensure that no part of his body was under the bike while at the same time calculating how his body would hit the street. A few hours from now would tell how good a job he did. Paul landed and skidded on is left side along the pavement before coming to rest against the curb. This turned out to be a miscalculation because when he hit the edge of the sidewalk with his already damaged ribs, the world went from light to dark as intense pain shot thru him knocking him unconscious for a few seconds.

"Paul!" Johnny yelled as the four agents raced over to where Briggs lay in the road.

Squatting down beside him Paige asked, "Oh my God are you alright?"

Back online but dazed, Paul blinked his eyes to clear his vision. He struggled to remove his helmet and Johnny reached out to assist, taking it and placing it on the pavement next to them.

"You should limit your movements. You maybe have a neck or spine injury," Mike recommended.

However, Paul ignored him and fought to sit up. Between clenched teeth Briggs ground out, "Nah, I'm OK." Paige and Charlie helped him remain upright by supporting his shoulders.

A car slowly drove around the group. "I think we need to take this little party out of the road," Johnny said and the other nodded in concurrence. "Can you stand dude?"

Briggs struggled to his feet with the assistance of Mike and the girls. He was nearly vertical when he doubled over, his face twisted with pain. "Be careful of the ribs," he moaned shaking his head trying to keep the gates of darkness from descending.

The trio supported him carefully as they walked into the house. Johnny picked up Briggs' helmet, righted the motorcycle and walked it into the Graceland garage.

Once inside, they sat Briggs down on the couch and Charlie started examining his visible damage. She lightly touched the patch of road rash on his left upper bicep then his thigh; lucky he had his leather jacket and thick jeans on as they had absorbed the worse of the skid. He also had a small abrasion on his cheek, partial obscured in his dark scraggy beard. "Good thing you have that beard because you're not going to want to be shaving that side of your face anytime soon. If it were Mike, he'd be in trouble."

"Nah," Johnny said coming into the room. "Mikey isn't old enough to shave yet."

"Ha, Ha," Mike replied rubbing a hand over his baby face.

Briggs leaned back against the couch and closed his eyes, letting the words wash over him but not really paying much attention. He wondered how the hell Jerry had done this for a living; maybe that did explain his drug habit.

Johnny moved over towards the couch. "How is our student driver?"

"Not sure yet but we have his road rash catalogued. Hey Paul you hurt anywhere else we can't see?" Paige inquired.

The U2 song "Vertigo" started playing in Paul's head, the beat spinning round and round in his mind until the words became his reality. As he went pale, a group of concern faces drifted in and out of his vision. When Paul finally got the merry-go-round that was his mind to stop, he reopened his eyes and felt like a painting on exhibition in a museum. "Stop staring at me," he groused. "I'm fine. Just a little dizzy. JT go get me the rum."

Charlie reached a hand placing it on Johnny's arm to stop him. "Ah, don't think so. Water, maybe."

"Fine. Get me a glass of water," Paul conceded.

"You never answered my question Paul. You hurt anywhere else?" Paige asked again.

Ignoring Paige, Paul reached out and took the bottle of water from Johnny when his ribs let it be known they did not like that movement. The bottle slipped from his grasp and dropped onto the carpet, soaking a small patch of it. Paul took a series of shallow breaths trying to get the pain under control. "Christ," he mumbled as he fought the agony. Maybe he had broken a few more ribs with his motorcycle stunt to add to the ones Mike had already stove in. Still partially doubled over, he addressed Paige's question indirectly. "You know that place you went to like a year ago when you hurt your foot?"

As Paige thought back, a disgusted look crossed her face. "You mean when that fat slug stepped on my foot and I thought he broke all my toes? Yeah, it was an urgent care facility. But that place was a real dive. Not your best cliental. Never again."

"But it was good enough to maintain your cover, right?" Paul asked.

"That was the only thing it had going for it," she snorted.

Paul gave a quick nod. "They do x-rays. Right on the premises?"

Paige nodded. "Slug broke two of my toes. Painful, the son of a bitch."

A small grin crossed Paul's face. He remembered the weeks that followed that incident and how they all had gotten to enjoy the daily tirades as Paige suffered thru the recovery of her toes.

"Yeah, we all remember, especially the complaining and the fetching part," Johnny said and Paige gave him a look that was a mixture of go away and #uck you. "It hurt to walk."

"Let's go," Briggs addressed Mike as he struggled to his feet. "We're going for a little ride."

"Where?" Mike asked in disbelief not connecting the dots for once.

Briggs rolled his eyes then took a calculated risk with his answer. "The urgent care facility. I think that damn curb did to me, what you did to Odin."

A look of understanding showed on Mike's face; Johnny just looked confused. "What did Mike do to Odin? I thought you shot at him Briggs."

Paul gave Mike a small clap on the back, wincing slightly for his efforts. "Our man Mike here believes he broke a few of Odin's ribs when they wrestled in the warehouse. Odin might have escaped us this time, but Mike marked the son of a bitch. He will be ours soon enough." The group rallied behind Paul's pep talk.

On their way out, Paul snagged a bottle of rum for the ride; he was going to need it to dampen the pain levels. After settling in the passenger seat, Paul uncapped the bottle and took a drink.

"You think that is a good idea?" Mike asked climbing into the driver side and starting the Bronco.

Since they were alone, Briggs was brutally honest. "Nah. It is probably a stupid idea. What would be a great idea is going to a nice clean hospital and getting some heavy duty painkillers; like the narcotic kind because these ribs hurt like a mother-#ucker. But I don't have that option because they would ask too many questions which I couldn't answer because I'm a smack-head Mike."

Mike cringed at Paul's self-deprecating tone of voice.

"So instead, I'm on the way to a lousy faux-hospital, which probably should have been shut down by the authorities' years ago but no one cared enough to do so. And why? Because I crashed on my god-damn motorcycle in the rain. Stupid. Real stupid." Paul looked out the window and took another sip. "However since it services the resident junkies of the area, I suppose it is apropos for me to go there; maintains my cover too."

Reaching in the glove box, Paul drew out a small makeup kit and proceeded to do up his wrist with track marks. Paul glanced over at Mike noticing his puzzlement. "Why, you wonder," he said applying a few more strokes. "Because people see what they want to see Mike and believe what they want to believe. The doctors and nurses expect to see a junkie and that is exactly what they are going to see. When dealing with a junkie," Paul held up his newly marked up wrist then buckled his watch over it, "they aren't going to ask a lot of potentially embarrassing questions. No for someone like me, they are simply going to patch me up, not offer any type of pain management medicine other than aspirin and kick my sorry ass out the door. And that Mike, is all I can afford to have done."

Silence reigned for the rest of the ride as Paul occasionally took hits off his bottle and Mike processed how screwed up Paul's life had become because of Caza.


	3. Chapter 3

The urgent care center was overflowing with customers and the guys had to wait for quite a while in the reception area. Paul wasn't drunk but he also wasn't exactly sober which was probably a good thing considering how long they were kept waiting.

Mike decided that Briggs was going for the role of a modestly belligerent, crashing junkie; he was splendid in the part. His body radiated vibes of irritation that made everyone give him a wide berth, which considering the dregs of humanity in this waiting room, wasn't so bad; in the overly crowded area they had the only chairs with empty seats on either side of them. One person decided to sit on the floor rather than take a chance on sitting next to Paul. No sign of the Zen master here today Mike noted as Briggs fidgeted, fussed and drove everyone around him crazy.

Paul was treating him with deference which made Mike wonder what his role in their 'relationship' was supposed to be, other than taxi driver. When the nurse finally called Paul into the back to an examining room, Mike rose from the hard plastic seats to join him but Paul laid a restraining hand on his shoulder. "Mike, I can take it from here," and Mike sat down knowing he'd been dismissed.

After an eternity, Paul walked back in the waiting area and Mike could see a bandage peeking out from under the sleeve of his t-shirt and a matching one hanging out from under the shorts that Paul had brought in from the jeep. Behind him trailed a highly annoyed nurse who was trying to provide Paul with instructions that the agent was clearly ignoring.

"Do you live with Mr. Davis?" the burly nurse asked Mike as the two came to a stop in front of him.

Mike stuttered a bit while replying; again this was not what they taught in Quantico. "Yes. No. Well yes we are roommates but he is not, I mean we aren't ah…"

"Smooth Mike. Real smooth," Paul muttered shaking his head. "1700?!" he snorted in obvious disbelief.

The nurse's eyes swept Mike critically and apparently found him lacking too. "Look, I don't care if you're banging this guy or not. I'm just trying to do my job here and give this patient his discharge instructions. Mr. Davis has been highly uncooperative." She gave Paul a look of total disgust and he grinned back at her.

"What's wrong with him?" Mike found himself asking.

"Hey, you can't…" Paul started but the nurse swiftly cut him off. "You, shut up. I have had enough of your bullshit. I should have called the cops when you first walked in here." Paul gave a small shrug looking away.

The nurse turned her attention back on Mike. "To go along with the abrasions, your friend has four fractured ribs, as the result of the motorcycle accident."

"Impressive huh?" Paul interjected but the evil eye from the nurse shut him down.

"Probably due to drugs and alcohol," she muttered. Clearing her throat she continued. "He needs to ice the affected area for about 20 minutes every 1 – 2 hours. That," she said gazing over at Paul, "means putting the ice on the outside not ingesting it with your booze."

"Hey lady, I'm a man. I swill my drinks straight."

The nurse rolled her eyes again. Mike nodded his head to show he understood and Paul gave the nurse a little whatever-shrug.

"It will take approximately 4 weeks for the ribs to heal properly and during that time he may have to curtail his normal activities whatever they are and I don't want to know."

Paul tired of this whole conversation, started to wander off towards the door before Mike reached out and grabbed his wrist to stop him.

"Approximately 3 – 5 times an hour, he needs to take deep breaths to fully inflate his lungs or he risks the chance of developing pneumonia. God knows we don't want him back here again." She continued on almost cheerfully as if she was enjoying the next part. "I am not going to lie, this is going to be very painful, especially in the first week or so but the doctor can't prescribe any painkillers for him," she said giving him a patronizing look. "He'll have to make do with over the counter meds."

Paul held his track marked wrist up to the nurse. "I have my own pain medicine." He gave Mike a 'see I told you so' look that summed up the whole trip perfectly.

"Take this," she handed a manila folder to Mike, "and him over to that counter and pay." With that she turned on her heels and marched into the back.

Paul grabbed the folder from Mike and scanned the contents. "Nah, this will never do. We need a distraction," he said surveying the rent-a-cop by the door. Moving purposely, he walked past the nurse's station and back towards the examining rooms.

"Hey you can't go back there alone," one of the nurses called after him. Paul stopped and turned back towards her. "I left my god-damn jacket in the examine room," and with that he started back down the hallway. The guard at the door started to move to intercept but a quick head shake from the nurse had him maintain his post.

Paul strode down the hall until he spotted the fire alarm pull on the wall. A fugitive look around him showed he was alone so he reached out and activated the alarm. A moment of panic hit Paul as he wondered in rundown place like this, if it would work, but the piercing wail of the alarm quickly cut thru the air. For good measure Paul yelled 'Fire' a couple of times as he hurried down the hallway back to the reception area.

The waiting room was in pure panic when he got there. Some patrons were scrambling towards the door and some were just sitting there as if nothing was wrong. The nurses and the lone security guard were trying to usher people outside who just didn't want to cooperate. Paul quickly walked thru the chaos, grabbed Mike's arm and hauled him out to the jeep. Once there he gratefully collapsed into the passenger seat and then barked at Mike to drive.

"But shouldn't we try to help?" Mike questioned. Briggs reached over and cranked the ignition, swearing as his rib made known their displeasure at his movements.

"It's not real. Now drive the #uck away," he ordered collapsing back in his seat and searching for the bottle of rum he had left in the car. Finding it he sighed and took a long drink.

Mike did as told and drove away. Glancing over at Briggs he noticed the folder resting on the floor. "Why did you do that? Take the folder?"

Briggs cracked open an eye and glanced over at Mike. "I can't leave a record of me being there."

"But you used an alias."

"Still too risky."

"But you didn't pay!"

"Yeah, well they didn't do much for me either," Paul countered taking another swig.

Mike thought about it and he guessed it made sense in the whole crazy scheme of things. "So there was no fire right?"

"Just a harmless distraction to get out of there. Better than starting a real fire huh?"

Mike grinned. "Smooth move Briggs."

When they got back to the house, Mike had to assist Paul a bit with the stairs, but once inside, Briggs shook himself free of Mike. The rest of the housemates congregated in the living room to see what had transpired. Paul sat tiredly on the couch and let Mike tell the story. At one point the younger agent turned to the older one and said "Exactly what did you do back there to get them so pissed at you?"

Paul grinned mysteriously but only said "trade secret." The room groaned and Paul held up his hands in contrition. "A story for another time around the campfire," he promised.

Jakes grunted. "Yeah like any of you needs to know how to piss people off. I think it comes naturally with you guys," he said referring to his FBI and DEA housemates.

"Right back at you dreads-man," Johnny countered and Jakes rolled his eyes. Turning his attention back to Briggs Johnny asked, "So let's see dude. Gotta rank where this fits."

Mike looked questioningly at his housemates.

"It's a stupid game these idiots play," Jakes finally elaborated. "They compare their on-the-job injuries and award points to see who's are the best or worse if you will. Currently, I think Johnny's at the head of the leaderboard though Briggs is probably close behind."

"Wait a minute," Johnny interrupted. "I'm not sure this should count. After all he was not on a case when he kissed the pavement from his motorcycle."

"I'm always on a case," Paul disputed, "we all are here in Graceland. So this… mishap, counts as much as the time you got sliced by that crazy surfer chick…"

"Eight stitches," Johnny said proudly.

"Or that scar Charlie got fending off Rico…"

"Talk about crazies. He bit me too!"

"Yeah, but the knife wound is what got you points," Paul reminded her.

Charlie nodded her head in agreement. "True, but let's not forget the time you got thrown off the pier."

"Yep, that certainly got me some bonus points. But this time, I am not going to get a big windfall I fear, though I think it deserves more points than the bruise Paige got from Tawaka."

"Fat mother #ucker hit me with a chair because he couldn't get it up. Blamed me for his wimpy solider."

Paul threw a compliment to Paige. "If a guy can't get it up around you baby, it is got to be something wrong with him. You rock."

"And you know it," Johnny added which got a pillow thrown at him by Paige.

"Enough," Charlie ordered. "Let's see the unveil."

With a show of reluctance, Paul stood and slowly rolled his shirt up until the full glory of his bruise could be seen by all. Mike flinched at the sight, Paige whistled, Johnny leaned in for a closer examination and Charlie looked up at Paul's eyes which were scanning for their reactions. Suddenly, he doubled over in real pain. Mike rushed to his side and helped him to the couch. A light sheen of sweat broke out on Paul's body as he struggled to calm his breathing.

"Ok, enough of show and tell," Charlie said putting her foot down. "Paul you need to go to bed."

Paul's head was playing Vertigo again, so he made no move to protest when they helped him up the stairs and into bed. Mike pointedly brought him some Aleve and Paul swallowed them giving the younger agent a grateful smile. The rest fussed around a bit before leaving him alone.

When they all finally left his room, Paul let his mind wander. It looked like once again he was back on track with his master plan; he successfully dispelled anyone from connecting his injuries to Odin's, even if they were one and the same. Paul was adamant in his mission to bring down Caza's organization. Briggs' planned to personally kill the bastard for what he had done to his friends… no his family and nothing was going to get in his way.


End file.
